the gate. With his arms
thrown up, the palms against the paling, he slid down in a heap on the
ground.

"Aissa," he said, pleadingly, pressing his lips to a chink between the
stakes. "Aissa, do you hear me? Come back! I will do what you want, give
you all you desire--if I have to set the whole Sambir on fire and put
that fire out with blood. Only come back. Now! At once! Are you there?
Do you hear me? Aissa!"

On the other side there were startled whispers of feminine voices; a
frightened little laugh suddenly interrupted; some woman's admiring
murmur--"This is brave talk!" Then after a short silence Aissa cried--

"Sleep in peace--for the time of your going is near. Now I am afraid of
you. Afraid of your fear. When you return with Tuan Abdulla you shall
be great. You will find me here. And there will be nothing but love.
Nothing else!--Always!--Till we die!"

He listened to the shuffle of footsteps going away, and staggered to his
feet, mute with the excess of his passionate anger against that being
so savage and so charming; loathing her, himself, everybody he had
ever known; the earth, the sky, the very air he drew into his oppressed
chest; loathing it because it made him live, loathing her because she
made him suffer. But he could not leave that gate through which she had
passed. He wandered a little way off, then swerved round, came back and
fell down again by the stockade only to rise suddenly in another attempt
to break away from the spell that held him, that brought him back there,
dumb, obedient and furious. And under the immobilized gesture of lofty
protection in the branches outspread wide above his head, under the
high branches where white birds slept wing to wing in the shelter of
countless leaves, he tossed like a grain of dust in a whirlwind--sinking
and rising--round and round--always near that gate. All through the
languid stillness of that night he fought with the impalpable; he fought
with the shadows, with the darkness, with the silence. He fought without
a sound, striking futile blows, dashing from side to side; obstinate,
hopeless, and always beaten back; like a man bewitched within the
invisible sweep of a magic circle.

PART III

CHAPTER ONE

"Yes! Cat, dog, anything that can scratch or bite; as long as it is
harmful enough and mangy enough. A sick tiger would make you happy--of
all things. A half-dead tiger that you could weep over and palm upon
some poor devil in your power, t